


Vice

by Squeeb100



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Arguing, Bonding, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Cuddling, Smoking, Team as Family, Underage Drug Use, but they do try their best, little and broken but still good, more specific warnings are tagged in each chapter, the first thing i post in over a year and it's this, unfortunately all of noodle's (ill)legal guardians have questionable credentials
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:42:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29601234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squeeb100/pseuds/Squeeb100
Summary: Noodle grows up around bad influences, who are also, more often than not, *under* the influence. She stays out of trouble, mostly, and when she slips up her bandmates are there to catch her.
Relationships: Murdoc Niccals & Noodle, Noodle & Stuart "2D" Pot, Russel Hobbs & Noodle
Comments: 29
Kudos: 44





	1. Drink (Phase 1)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I have never, uhhhhh *looks at smudged writing on back of hand* "eaten a drugs" in my life and I highly suggest that you avoid it also. I waffled on what to include and tried very hard to present this in a way that didn't glorify drug abuse while still including immersive/interesting details. Know that the details are based on research from the dark corners of reddit and some very limited experience with alcoholic beverages. If you have suggestions on improving my presentation, please lob them at me, because I was flying blind here tbh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings for Chapter 1:  
> \- Alcohol Abuse  
> \- Canon-typical ableism from Murdoc  
> \- UK slang for "cigarette" which is a homophobic slur in the US  
> \- Very lightly implied/referenced past child abuse and domestic violence (canon-typical)  
> \- Dubious Japanese derived from one (1) semester of the language + Google Translate  
> \- Please tell me if you think a warning is amiss!

It began as a quest for juice. The ravens shrieked, the branches rapped against her window, and Noodle woke from a dreamless sleep, finding herself unable to return. So she slipped out of bed, bare feet pressing against the draft-chilled floorboards, and crept down the hall toward the kitchen. The best thing about waking at midnight was that everyone else was asleep or otherwise occupied, and this meant that nobody was around to tell her that too much apple juice was not part of a balanced diet. Not that that anyone but Russel would care, but it was the principle of the matter. Forbidden Juice was far more special than regular juice because it had been obtained through nefarious dealings, like Murdoc’s big bass guitar, which he worshiped and caressed and claimed to have received from Satan Himself.

It made Noodle laugh when Murdoc talked about it because Russel always looked so angry with him. Such stories were not appropriate for little girls, and this made them all the sweeter.

Like Forbidden Juice.

She reached the kitchen, but stopped short of the fridge, noticing a light on and flickering over the table. The room was vacant. Sitting in the open, idle for the moment, were a bottle of amber liquid (the color of apple juice, but, she knew, very different), a small tumbler, and an ashtray.

Noodle approached the table cautiously, aware that Murdoc had likely only _stepped out for a piss_ and would be back momentarily to keep at his beverage of choice. It was a sudden, devilish impulse, born of after-midnight giddy mischief, but Noodle climbed up and perched on the chair, reaching for the gaudily detailed bottle. It was heavier than she had expected, but she was _nothing_ if not strong, and she tipped some of the drink into the little glass.

“A- _hem.”_

Noodle froze, glancing guiltily over her shoulder. Standing in the doorway, shirtless with a cigarette hanging limply from his mouth, was the Gorillaz bassist.

“Well, don’t let _me_ spoil the fun,” Murdoc drawled, slinking over. His Cuban heels, usually so satisfyingly _clunky,_ beat out her sentence. _Doomed. Doomed. Doomed._

“Murdoc-san.” Noodle placed the bottle back on the table and scrambled out of his way. She wasn’t afraid of him, but she dreaded his disappointment, or the thought that she might lose his trust (this was a sentiment 2D often recited sagely, that when you betrayed someone you lost their trust, but she had yet to see such a thing happen). That she might lose his _respect._

Her frantic scrambling seemed to give Murdoc pause, however, and he abated. Noodle watched in nervous fascination as he rocked back on his heel, then stepped around the table, giving her plenty of space. He settled in the seat opposite her, slid his drink and ashtray to his new place, and gave a little jerk of his head to indicate Noodle should sit down.

“ _Gomenasai,_ I am sorry, your drink,” Noodle blurted, hands knotted in the fabric of her pajamas.

“You were curious. S’alright.” Murdoc took a long drag from his cigarette, then tapped the precariously dangling ash into the ashtray.

“ _Sore wa nomenai._ Not allowed,” Noodle reminded him. She clambered into the chair across from him, confident that she wasn’t going to be scolded.

Murdoc exhaled, smoke drifting off into a dark corner of the kitchen. “Yeah, well,” he shrugged. “I’m not allowed a fag around you, says Russ, but it appears we’ve reached an impasse.” He lifted the bottle and poured a tumbler-full with a practiced twist of the wrist, then nudged the glass toward Noodle. “I ain’t stopping you.”

Noodle glanced down at the drink, then back at Murdoc, sensing a trap.

“Drink it, if you want. You’ll probably be fine. Russ might knock my nose off for good, but you can keep a secret.” He made a big show of thinking something over. “Though your little brain’s still developing. Don’t know how I’ll cope if you turn up a moron as well.” He took another thoughtful drag, then blew the smoke out his nose. “And there must be a limit to how much brain damage a man can inflict before they cart him off for good. Maybe better not.”

Murdoc didn’t move the glass away.

“I’d have to be some brand of awful hypocrite to start abiding by the law _now,_ though. Surrender to the system. You’d better have some, in fact, if that’s your fancy.” He waved her on a little with his hand, encouraging or mocking, Noodle couldn’t tell.

She was not supposed to have the drink, this she knew. It was the sort of thing which was Only For Adults, and even then sometimes seemed as if it shouldn’t be. Drinking a lot made both Murdoc and 2D go silly at first, before Murdoc slipped into _angry_ and 2D became completely incoherent. Russel would get melancholy and withdrawn, even more so than usual, and Noodle had picked up backstage and from TV that alcohol could really be quite dangerous for anyone, let alone a little ten-year-old girl.

She wasn’t supposed to drink it, and she was quite sure Murdoc didn’t expect her to. Just to be contrary, she accepted the glass and dunked the tip of her tongue in, holding it there defiantly. It was awful and stinging _,_ and she felt her face screw up as she shoved the glass back toward Murdoc.

He laughed out loud, the kind of rare, joyous laugh which Noodle strove for—under any other circumstances. She stuck her tongue out at him and put up her middle fingers, which was something the boys did when they thought she wasn’t looking.

This made Murdoc laugh harder.

“You _cheeky_ little thing!” he crowed, picking up the glass and tossing the contents back before slamming it down on the table. He was flushed and grinning, all wild-eyed and crooked-toothed, and Noodle felt a swell of affection for him even as she was _really very annoyed._

“Not funny!” she wailed, but a smile might have forced itself through anyway.

“Sorry, love, it is. It’s funny,” Murdoc laughed. He took another drag, then seemed to calm down a bit. “You weren’t supposed to go for it!” He ashed into the tray again, then stood up in one fluid motion and slipped over to the fridge.

“Would you like a drink? Non-alcoholic?” he asked, already pulling down a tumbler that matched his own.

“Juice!”

“That’s what I thought.” Light streamed out of the refrigerator as Murdoc opened the door, removed the juice bottle, and slammed the fridge shut with a jingling of condiment bottles. He clunked back over, satisfyingly heavy on his feet, and placed the juice and the tumbler before Noodle, mirroring his own setup across the table.

Noodle’s hands were already at the lid, and she poured herself a tumbler of juice, _nearly_ avoiding spillage. Murdoc screwed the cap back on when she finished, then poured himself another drink.

“Cheers, love,” he said, and raised his glass. Noodle raised hers to meet it, leaning forward in her seat to clink them together. Murdoc took a sip, which seemed much more reasonable a technique than downing the vile stuff in one mouthful, and Noodle enjoyed the first blissful drink of her juice, sweet on her tongue and cold down her throat. Juice was much better than alcohol, Noodle decided, and then wondered why Murdoc didn’t have some instead.

“ _Nande sore o nomimasu no?_ Why drink?” She pointed to Murdoc’s tumbler in case he required clarification.

“Why not?” he replied, shrugging vaguely and having another sip.

“Bad… _ah, etto…_ bad taste.”

Murdoc swallowed loudly and smacked his lips. “Acquired,” he acquiesced.

“You, Russel-san, Toochi, become, ah…” Noodle trailed off, staring into her golden juice.

“Not ourselves?” Murdoc suggested.

 _“Hai,_ yes. Not yourselves.” Noodle nodded, glad he understood. She finished her juice with a few gulps, then cast Murdoc a furtive glance before pouring herself another. Murdoc was not the type to fuss about extra sweets before dinner or apple juice at midnight, but she felt sneaky about it anyway. “Funny. Ah, _sad.”_

Murdoc scoffed. “The other two, maybe. What a sorry pair of sods. It _will_ make you go a bit funny; ‘s why people like it. Makes everything a bit fuzzy.”

“Fuzzy why?”

“Eh, messes with the front part of your brain, which is the real thinky part, y’know?” He waggled his fingers toward his forehead. “Turns your decision-making to rubbish. You might get more emotional, not that this is an issue for 2D, and you lose a little bit of your filter, which, again, is not an issue for 2D. He really just shuts down, doesn’t he?” Murdoc laughed, a bit meanly. “If you’re thinking about your problems, you might get upset. Russel’s always thinking about all the crap in the world. That’s why he’s such a downer at parties. And some blokes get real violent, y’know?”

Noodle nodded. She did know.

“But it can also make you _stop_ thinking about your problems, or make ‘em seem less bad. It makes you feel happy.” He punctuated this statement with another swig. 

Noodle raised her apple juice demonstratively.

Murdoc smiled, the soft kind of smile which Noodle thought might be reserved for her alone. “Tha’s right. Apple juice will do that just as well, for you.” He drank again. “I guess the answer is, because it’s fun. ‘S why people do it at parties. It makes you more fun to be around. Unless you’re 2D.”

Noodle scowled.

“ _Oh,_ he’s fine.” Murdoc huffed, as he often did when it was suggested that he might be polite to 2D. “He can’t hear me,” he added, with a knowing smile Noodle did not fully understand, but did not much like.

“Sleeping?”

Murdoc grinned and shrugged in a way that clarified absolutely nothing.

Noodle hummed, the sound vibrating and echoing in her glass as she took another drink of apple juice. She thought Murdoc was most likely being rude, and that both 2D and Russel were asleep at this time of night. Noodle was only awake because of the sounds outside her window, which did beg the question:

 _“Nande nenai no?_ You not sleep?”

“Eh. Not tonight, it seems.”

“Bad? _Etto, akumu wa nan desu ka?_ Sleep think?”

Murdoc looked at her blankly for a moment, then realized what she meant. “Bad dreams, yeah? Nightmares?”

“Nightmares,” Noodle repeated. “Bad dreams. Murdoc has bad dreams?”

“Sometimes,” he replied. “Everyone does, sometimes. But I’ve got some whiskey and a fag and I’m perfectly content. What about you, love? Bad dreams?”

“No. Birds.” She mimicked a raven cawing with one hand.

“Ah, yeah, they’ll do that. Cortez can sing with the best of ‘em, but the bloody bird won’t shut up all night if the others are going at it outside. Lovely animal. What a tosser.” Murdoc had another sip of his drink. “Threw ‘im out and caused a racket, did I? Sorry, Noodle.”

“Okay,” she assured him, finishing her second juice. Her eyelids were growing heavy, now, just a bit, the novelty of a secret late-night drink with her bandmate wearing off slightly. She broke into a yawn.

Murdoc softened. “Bedtime, then?” he asked, ironing some of the roughness from his voice.

She could stay up longer, she knew, but the thought of burrowing into a soft bed was inviting. Plus, the sooner she went to sleep, the sooner she could be up and doing fun things, like coloring and playing her guitar and seeing Russel and 2D. Nodding, Noodle rubbed one eye with her fist. 

“Come on, then, dove.” Murdoc stubbed out his cigarette, then stood and gathered up their tumblers, ruffling Noodle’s hair as he passed. He set the glasses in the sink to fester with the rest of the dishes, then placed the juice back in the fridge and the alcohol back in the high cabinet, where Russel had thought it out of sight and mind. He ambled back over, looking a bit more unsteady than he had before the drinks, and opened his arms, an almost sheepish offer for a ride down the hall.

Feeling warm inside, Noodle slid out of her chair and padded over, allowing him to take her into his arms. He smelled of whiskey and smoke and sweat; not pleasant, but comfortingly familiar. They went to his room, rather than hers (to avoid the birds, she assumed) and Murdoc let Noodle climb into his unused bed, patting her on the head a bit awkwardly when she’d finished burrowing into the sheets.

“Arright, then, love. Sleep tight, yeah?” He turned on his heel, prepared to slip back down into the darkness of the parking garage.

“Murdoc. Stay?”

He lingered, a silhouette with one hand on the doorframe. “I don’t know that it’d be appropriate, love,” he said, which was not at all the answer Noodle had hoped for and she let him know.

“Appropriate _yes!”_ She may have been shouting a bit, which, by her estimates, was all the better for convincing an adult. She sat up, the sheets crumpling around her, and patted the bed authoritatively. “Murdoc! Sleep,” she commanded.

He hesitated. “Not yer dog,” he finally groused, but he sidled back up to the bed anyway, ruffling Noodle’s hair with one hand and then shoving her back good-naturedly. Her head _floomped_ into the too-soft pillow and she cackled.

“A _haaaa,_ ya gremlin!” He yanked the sheets up over her head and then jumped onto the bed, sending her a foot up into the air. She shrieked and dissolved into giggles as Murdoc situated himself on top of the covers. Noodle pulled the sheets down to her chin and wiggled up against him, sighing. He laid one arm over her, practically _bashful_ about it, and it filled her with unbridled glee.

“Stop yer wigglin’,” Murdoc snapped half-heartedly. “Settle down.”

Noodle complied, only because she was getting tired. She pressed her face into the pillow and sighed. “ _Aishiteru,”_ she whispered, and Murdoc hummed, not understanding.

“And the same to you, kiddo. Now sleep.”

When she glanced at it a few days later, the alcohol cabinet had a lock on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Murdoc, you're doing horrible, sweetie
> 
> Please let me know if this ever slips into the present tense because my writing DOES tend to try to bust a move every time I'm emotionally invested in the scene and distracted from holding the tense in place. And then when I read back through my brain tricks me into thinking it's fine. Also I apologize for my questionable writing of an amnesiac ten-year-old.


	2. Dope (Phase 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so psyched that people enjoyed the first chapter as much as they did! This chapter (chapter 2) was actually the first one I wrote and was my original vision for the story. It's got a little bit of a different vibe from chapter one and is the reason this fic is rated M (for underage drug use, because I got very nervous about presenting a fic where a minor uses drugs to an audience of minors. I do know that minors will still read this and that's okay, but I need you to know that I do not want you to do drugs and I hope this chapter is successful in communicating that). I tried very hard to present these characters and topics in a way that was respectful, nuanced, and sensitive, and if anyone has suggestions for improvement please don't hesitate.
> 
> Warnings:  
> \- Underage drug use  
> \- Vomiting  
> \- Referenced drug use/abuse

Surely _one_ couldn’t hurt.

She turned the bottle in her palm, thumbed over the peeling label. This was prescribed by a doctor. Which doctor was beside the point, it was a _real prescription_ that _real doctors_ gave patients for things like migraines and chronic pain and debilitating addiction. These weren’t the bad pills, either, drugs of dubious origin which came in unmarked bottles and knocked 2D flat for hours at a time. These were medicine.

But Noodle knew what opioids were and what they did, in a vague sort of way, at least. She’d grown up around 2D and his habit of popping pills just slightly too often for the pain to be a sufficient justification. She knew Murdoc lifted them as often as he prescribed them, squirreling them away into the Winnebago for later use or distribution. Russel’s evident displeasure with their habits hadn’t managed to keep the pills out of Noodle’s sight, and they’d been left within her reach more frequently than anyone could remember or admit to.

She was curious. And surely just _one_ couldn’t hurt.

She twisted through the child lock with a teenager’s practiced ease and shook a pill into her palm. It was small and unassuming, and she inspected it for just a moment before tossing it back, washing it down with water straight from the kitchen tap. She knew from years of observation that whatever was going to happen would take a while, so she screwed the cap back onto the bottle and placed it on the kitchen table where she had found it.

What did 2D do after taking something? Normal activities, from what she could tell, unless it was a migraine day. If he’d mixed the pills with marijuana or had a few too many, he would sit around watching films or fiddling with old electronics (or, and this disturbed her more than she’d care to admit, just _sitting_ there and staring at something, seeming half-asleep or on his way there). Perhaps she should go lie down and wait.

Noodle climbed the stairs to her room, cataloging her faculties. She didn’t feel any different by the time she shut the door behind her, keeping the knob turned to avoid making a racket. _Waiting_ for something had never been so agonizing. She didn’t want to start a task and lose the ability to finish it, but she didn’t want to sit and do nothing waiting for a vague, nebulous _something_ that might never arrive.

Doubt began to creep in as she settled on the bed and flipped open her DS, developing into nervous tension which sparked and ran up her spine. She shouldn’t have done this. She didn’t even know what was going to happen! What if she’d had too much? She’d thought just _one_ couldn’t be much, but 2D was 6 feet tall with years of tolerance built up. Would something this little kill her?

And if one of the boys found out--

Noodle crushed the feeling down and flopped onto her side, turning away from the door. She wasn’t allowed weakness. Chasing the thoughts to some dark recess of her mind, Noodle powered up her DS and focused on forcing her way through a particularly difficult level. She’d nearly made it to the end when she faltered, the dreaded Game Over screen flashing at her. Again.

Noodle groaned and redoubled her efforts, fixating on the game and losing track of herself until the sixth or seventh Game Over. Was she getting _worse?_

She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, shoddily textured from the time the boys had scraped the old, water-damaged texture off and slapped up some white crap from the home renovation shop. She felt a bit strange. Nauseous, for the most part, and vaguely concerned about that, but the unpleasantness was cushioned in a thick, soft layer of _calm._ This must be the pill, she realized dully, suddenly understanding the look 2D had about him after taking a particularly strong dose. It felt like sinking into her bed, if her bed was a particularly soft cloud, or the comforting arms of a mother she’d never had. The thought surprised her, not one prone to flights of fancy, but an unbidden giddiness was rising in her chest.

Her stomach surged. Noodle spurred her sluggish body into action after just a moment’s delay, rolling clumsily off the side of the bed and shoving her head in the trash bin, retching loudly. She realized belatedly that her hair was in the line of fire and shoved it back as she heaved that morning’s omelet into the little white bin. The sick came in several waves, then receded to a mild unpleasantness of the stomach, contrasting sharply with the haziness creeping into the rest of her. She felt like falling asleep. She thought maybe she _had_ , just for a moment, and then woke up and vomited into the trash can again.

When all that remained was mild nausea, Noodle crawled back into bed and curled up on her side, hugging a pillow. The thought that she should empty the trash bin floated into her head and out the other side.

For the first time in a long while, she thought of Mr. Kyuzo without a lightning-strike of fear-turned-rage. She thought of the other children with only detached concern. Russel’s mental health and 2D’s safety and Murdoc’s self-destruction, everything she was usually desperately afraid for, faded into the softness of her mind. It was going to be okay.

She laid there, dozy and nauseous, and thought she understood 2D a bit better.

After a while, Noodle began to feel a bit more normal. She had expected the high to last longer—until she glanced at the clock beside her bed and had a bit of a shock. She didn’t remember exactly when she’d taken the pill, but between the waiting and the time she’d spent zoned out, it had been well over an hour.

Noodle rolled onto her back again, looking up at the ceiling, but she could feel the happy warmth leaching away moment by moment. Soon, she would be left with her regular, cold, heavy limbs, a chest full of weight and a head full of doubt, alone in her dark room at Kong.

She wanted another pill.

The thought surprised and terrified her. Surely _one_ pill wasn’t enough to--? Murdoc used 2D’s painkillers occasionally and didn’t seem to suffer adverse effects of addiction, but perhaps Murdoc was just drunk enough at all times to take the edge off anything else. Noodle shuddered. She knew she shouldn’t have taken it. She’d seen, if not truly comprehended, the effects of dependence, and she didn’t want to live like that! She didn’t want to be reduced to shaking and vomiting and curling up on her side, hiding from the world, head swimming with a cocktail of trauma and withdrawal. 

2D suffered that way. She’d seen it and she’d invited it upon herself. It felt like a betrayal, and for that she was sorry, but she was more concerned for herself and startled by that selfishness.

Noodle sat up slowly, drawing her legs against her chest and burying her face in her knees as tears sprung forth, unwelcome and uninvited, stinging as they slipped from her eyes. She tried her best to keep quiet, though Kong was large enough and the screams of the undead loud enough to drown out a bit of whimpering. She felt wretched, and not just nauseous, though she was still nauseous as well, and thirsty.

Noodle was a trained super-soldier. She prided herself on her capability and maturity. But she didn’t know what to _do._

Murdoc would be angry. Or he would laugh at her in that delighted-superior-affable-nasty way of his, say it was nothing to have a fit about and make a disparaging comment about 2D. Even when he didn’t _mean_ to be cruel, he could still manage, and Noodle couldn’t stand to be belittled by someone she respected so much. Russel would be worse. He would be reserved, but radiating disappointment, like that shameful time when Noodle was ten and threw rocks at the teenage delinquents who loitered about near the wrought-iron fence. He would think her childish. And he would get on 2D’s case for _Noodle’s_ lapse of judgement. But she didn’t know what to _do,_ and though she had never needed an adult’s help in her life she thought that, at the moment, it might be welcome.

Noodle sniffled and wiped her eyes, then slowly dragged herself from her bed. The studio was as Saturday-afternoon empty as it had been before, Murdoc having slithered away to the Winnie and Russel holed up somewhere with an assortment of animal bits and preservatives. 2D wasn’t in the cinema, where she had left him, and Noodle pattered through the halls, feeling a bit like a lost child fresh from a FedEx crate.

She found 2D in the recording studio, reclined on a loveseat and futzing around with a melodica. As with all her bandmates and collaborators, it fascinated Noodle to watch him work through an aimless melody, noticing which patterns he intuited and picking up on the tells that he was unhappy with a sour note. The joy of this spectacle was dampened by Noodle’s reason for coming. 2D stopped playing when she skulked in, anyway, looking up and flashing a brilliant smile, the kind which made his eyes squint nearly closed. Noodle’s heart turned to lead.

“’Ey, Noodle!” He put the melodica aside and sat up, patting the seat beside him. “I was just muckin’ about in here. Want to get your guitar?”

Noodle hesitated, then shook her head. If she buried this, she would lose the nerve to bring it up, and she _had_ to know what was going to happen to her.

“Arright. You need something?” he asked brightly, cocking his head.

Noodle crept into the room and perched on the edge of the couch, leaving as much space between herself and 2D as possible. She stared at her hands so she didn’t have to see his expression, but she could imagine it, that open, concerned-confused furrow of his brow which could be almost comical, given the right circumstances.

“You arright, Noods?” he asked softly.

“I have to tell you something,” she quavered.

A pause. “Anything.” The sincerity in his voice made her heart clench.

Noodle took a deep breath, drawing the moment out.

“I know I shouldn’t have done it. I wish I hadn’t.” She ran her fingers over a rough patch on her thumbnail. “But I don’t like being dishonest with you and I don’t like keeping secrets. I took one of your pills,” she forces it out. “Not a bad one. One of the prescriptions.” Her voice breaks, then goes small. “I’m sorry.”

She still couldn’t look at him, but it didn’t do her any good. She imagined his expression in the few seconds he used to process her words, either figuring out what to say or just allowing the silence to hang there to torture her. She imagined anger, for all that she’d never seen him angry with anyone but Murdoc, and even then simply _resentful_ might suffice. She thought he might be scared or disappointed, and she hated the thought of that even more.

“Okay,” he said, sounding like he would when convinced he was inept, and clueless, and a failure, and she hated that most of all.

Noodle’s head dropped as she began to cry, breath coming in short wheezes as her shoulders hitched.

“Noodle, dun—c’mere.” She felt him shift beside her, an invitation. After a few moments she succumbed, turning into his side. His arm fell across her back, securing her, and she buried her face in his chest, twisted her fingers in the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she gasped, and his other arm came up around her.

“I ain’t cross with you, luv,” he assured her, softly. “I’m cross with myself. An’ scared. You just had the one?”

“Yeah.”

“Which kind?”

“O-oxycodone,” she forced out, between hitches of her breath. “Just one. More tha--than an hour ago.”

“Arright. Tha’ should be okay, I think,” 2D murmured, resting his chin on her head. “Were you sick?”

Noodle nodded, her face rubbing the wet spot she’d made in his shirt. She was never _glad_ to cry, but if she had to, she was glad it was to 2D, with whom she had always been understanding and understood even when neither of them had the words to express it.

He shifted, pressing his lips to the crown of her head. “I’m so sorry.” His voice rasped, and she felt his mouth move against her hair so, so gently, and she broke.

Noodle wailed, finally allowing herself full-bodied sobs, and 2D responded instantly, curling around her so she was fit snugly in the curve of his body and rocking them both back and forth gently. He was so tall, and even his slight frame felt like it enveloped her, a secure, comforting, _real_ embrace.

“I’s alright,” he murmured.

Noodle started to speak and choked on a loud, ugly inhale, stopping and struggling for breath for a moment. 2D began to run his hand over her back. For all that he stumbled in conversation, he was very physically intuitive, and his touch was the greatest comfort she could imagine.

“Wha’s botherin’ you the most?” he asked gently, and Noodle felt a rush of shame. She shouldn’t need this, shouldn’t take such comfort in being held by an adult while she bawled helplessly. She shouldn’t feel so reluctant to explain her concerns, _childish_ concerns born of a childish curiosity and a short-sighted decision.

“I—” she paused, unsure how to avoid sounding like a frightened girl. “How many…does it take? To be addicted?”

He _really_ thought about it, and the silence drove a sharp spike of fear into her. She had come because she wanted to hear _more than one, you’re fine, it’s nothing,_ and the buildup to the answer nearly set her off wailing again.

“I think it depends,” he finally said. “But I think you’ll be okay. If you promise you’ll never do that again.”

“Never,” she gasped, then let out a few more quiet sobs.

“I’s no good, Noodle,” he continued, as though she hadn’t spoken. “The nice feeling don’t last. You hafta do more things, worse things, to…you, eventually you’re not takin’ ‘em because it feels nice. You’re takin’ ‘em to feel normal. Your body gets used to it, yeah? An’ it’s not safe. You can’t just _take_ things, ‘specially not things like this. People die. A lot.”

“I know,” she murmured into his chest.

“An’ it’s no fun, really,” he continued, because now he was Started and would be difficult to stop. “Dries ya’ mouth out an’ you can’t shi—you can’t poo properly. An’ you know it makes you sick. And if you don’t take it you’re shivery an’ sick, like the flu, an’ can’t do nothing for days. An’ it costs. If you have a script it costs, but i’s more when you don’t. Murdoc sells ‘em on the street for fifty apiece to the poor blokes who’ve spent all they got on it. An’ when it doesn’t do it for ‘em anymore they’ll get somethin’ stronger, more expensive an’ dangerous.”

“Mhm.” She had her ear pressed against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart, the resonance of his voice. He smelled like he always had, cigarette smoke and weed and cologne and, a bit bizarrely, butterscotch. A few more tears leaked out, but she had run dry, for the most part, and was glad for it.

“It ruins ya’ life, Noods. People do ‘orrible things.” His hand paused on her upper back.

“I won’t do it again,” Noodle whispered, having given up on seeming mature. She took a shuddery breath and uncurled her fingers, letting go of his ruined t-shirt and embracing him, pressing their chests together. Ten years old again, just for a moment. “I’m just afraid. It…I, when I started feeling normal again, I had the thought that I should take another. And that frightened me,” she admitted, cheeks burning.

“I think tha’s natural. Somethin’ makes you feel good, you wanna do it more. ‘S like human nature, prob’ly. Don’t mean you’re hooked.”

“Okay.” she sniffed.

“But _don’t_ do it again.” His voice dropped then, dangerously, and she stiffened. “Stuff’s gettin’ locked up. I don’t want you touchin’ it.”

“I understand.” Noodle relaxed.

“I’m sorry, luv. Should’ve hid ‘em in the first place. Russ’s always on my case about it. Guess we proved ‘im right, huh?”

“Will you tell them?”

“Mm?”

“Russel and Murdoc. Do you have to tell them about this?” Noodle asked, angling her head up to make eye contact. 2D looked at war with himself, weighing the costs and benefits of bringing this up to the others versus leaving it alone. As always, with the boys, she wondered desperately what was factoring into his decision. Thankfully, as this was 2D, he laid it out for her.

“I dun’ _have_ to do anything,” he finally said, sounding so much like a petulant child that it startled a laugh out of her. He furrowed his brow at this, and she apologized promptly. “If I tell them, they could help me watch out for you. They dun’ know to be worried about it, an’ I might leave things around anyway by accident. But you dun’ want me to say nothing, I don’t think, and I don’t very much want to either. Might be selfish of me.”

“I don’t think so,” Noodle assured him.

“Maybe not just now, then,” he decided, still sounding hesitant.

Satisfied, Noodle settled back against him, head cushioned against his shoulder. “Thank you, Toochi,” she murmurs. For not being angry, for listening, for caring.

“Yeah.” He took a deep, nervous breath. “There’s ever anythin’ you need to talk about, we’re here, yeah?”

“Yeah. Thank you.”

They sat in meditative silence for a while, and Noodle could feel everything settling back into place. She loved all three of the boys desperately, but 2D was the only one she could simply sit silently and _be_ with. She felt warm and secure and safe, understanding, usually, and understood, mostly; it was better than euphoria. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, point out any tense issues I have. I think I got them all but they're slippery


	3. Smoke (Phase 4)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter:  
> \- Smoking  
> \- It's quite tame but if there's anything I need to warn about let me know

It was probably the sunlight streaming through the window which woke her, unusual as it was for West London. She was feeling pleasantly warm in bed, hugging a pillow with the blankets pulled up to her chin, and for several moments she considered simply nuzzling into her pillow and falling asleep. It was…Friday? Work, then, but not until midmorning (‘see you at the arsecrack of dawn,’ Murdoc had said, which meant ‘when I’m good and ready and get around to it’). Noodle picked up her phone and glanced at the clock. 9:03 am; she should get up.

Groaning dramatically, Noodle tossed back the covers and rolled out of bed. Katsu, dislodged from his resting place, thumped down onto the floor and slunk out of the room to find somewhere else to nap.

Noodle ran one hand through her hair and huffed, feeling foggy-cranky-exhausted. Right, then; first order of business should be coffee and a smoke. She pulled on her bathrobe and toed into her slippers, resolving to get dressed when she didn’t feel half-dead. Taking a deep breath through her nose (which resolved as a yawn), Noodle stepped into the hall to greet the day.

“And _I’m telling you_ that it ain’t working out! We need him off the track!” Murdoc was shouting as Noodle approached the kitchen. There was a lull as someone replied, too quiet to hear, then the sound of a plate being slammed onto the table rather aggressively.

Noodle rounded the corner before Murdoc had the chance to really lay into 2D about the Crisis of the Hour, and both men straightened up a bit.

“Morning, Noodle,” Murdoc offered, at the same time as 2D’s bright “G’mornin!”

“Good morning, 2D,” Noodle said pointedly, acknowledging him, and then made her way to the counter, raking her gaze across Murdoc without stopping for eye contact.

There was a disgruntled _thunk_ as he slumped into his chair, muttering something about Noodle _keeping it up for as long as she liked._ She ignored him, pouring herself a mug of black coffee. 2D suggested that Murdoc might apologize and was hit in the head with what sounded like the newspaper. Both men settled into despondent silence.

There was a pack of Lucky Lungs on the counter. Brilliant; they weren’t her preferred brand, as they tasted like black tar, but Murdoc would seethe if he knew she’d nicked one off him. She shook one out, held it between her lips and lit it with her free hand before stalking out of the kitchen to the sound of Murdoc’s fading “that’s comin’ out of _your_ pocket!”

Such a lovely, sunny morning should be enjoyed in the garden, Noodle mused, and climbed the stairs to the roof. Katsu was waiting by the door, and scurried out when she opened it, streaking across the pavers and hopping up to sit in a pensive-looking Russel’s lap.

Noodle froze, lingering at the edge of the garden as Russel lifted a hand to stroke the little cat, still staring out into the middle distance.

“Mind if I join you?” Noodle asked, finally, and Russel turned slightly and smiled. He tilted his head, an invitation to join him at the verandah table, and she took a seat across from him, careful to position herself and her cigarette downwind.

“How you doin’, baby girl?” Russel asked, focus dragged off the horizon and onto her. He had a taxed look about him which was not new so much as it was intensified, as though the world-weary spirit kindled in his younger self had slowly seeped out and wrapped itself around him. It had probably started at his eyes, Noodle mused, crow’s feet and dark circles creeping from a ghost-white void.

Noodle took a drag from her cigarette, closing her eyes as smoke burned its way down into her lungs. She held her breath until the edge of discomfort before blowing out the side of her mouth, careful not to smother Russel with it.

“Better, now,” she replied truthfully. “And you?” she prompted, not out of some desire to make pointless conversation but because she was curious.

“Aight,” he returned, pursing his lips a bit and nodding, as if making sure this was the case. “Just marinatin’ in the city air. Taking in the sights.”

“One would think you would avoid rooftops,” Noodle teased, glancing sideways at him.

Russel scoffed. “And miss a view like this?” he nodded toward the highway, clogged up with morning commuters. A smile was tugging at the corner of his mouth, a telltale sign he was teasing.

Noodle exhaled through her nose, amused. A good thing they didn’t have to leave home to work, she thought, though with coworkers like Murdoc a West London commute might be bearable by comparison. It almost certainly would, she decided, and told Russel as much.

Russel hummed. “I prefer Muds, if only by a narrow margin. He smells just a bit better than that early-morning air pollution.”

Noodle granted this another little laugh.

“He goin’ be up any time before five?” Russel asked, turning his gaze back to her.

“He’s up, and shouting at 2D about one of the collaborators,” Noodle informed him, and took another drag. “I’ve stolen a cig from him to get back.”

“I’m sure ‘D appreciates that,” Russel replied drily.

A police siren blared from somewhere nearby as they lapsed into silence. A high-speed car chase? Drink-driving? Noodle inhaled from her cigarette again, craning her neck just slightly in case she caught a glimpse. Traffic on the overpass looked as stopped-up as ever, though, so she sunk down lazily in the verandah chair and ashed her cigarette onto the ground.

“When’d you start smoking?” Russel asked, suddenly. “Been meanin’ to ask. Know it’s been a few years, but,” he huffs out a sigh, self-deprecating. “Nothin’ like seeing your little girl with a pack of Sterlings stickin’ out her back pocket to make you wonder about the state of the world.”

“It would be more surprising if I had managed not to, growing up with the three of you in the house,” Noodle replied, perhaps a bit shortly, and had just a little puff. She blew it in his face this time.

“Fair,” Russel replied evenly, blinking a bit as the smoke stung his eyes but otherwise ignoring it.

“What did you _think_ would happen?” Noodle demanded, shifting her weight forward. The suddenness of the movement startled Katsu, and his eyes appeared over the edge of the table, concerned. “The ceilings were practically black in the old studio! Everything smelled of smoke!”

“To be completely fair,” Russel rumbled, “I’d told Murdoc to take it outside. Multiple times.”

“Well. He did not.”

Noodle punctuated this statement with a large mouthful of too-hot coffee and couldn’t help the little squeak which escaped her.

Russel’s eyes widened. He sat forward, disturbed from his relaxed slump for the first time, hands hovering at table-level. “You alright?”

Noodle nodded, eyes watering, and swallowed. She slammed the mug back down on the table and leaned forward. “It should not be allowed to _get_ that hot!” she gasped, fanning at her open mouth.

Wordlessly, Russel nudged his glass of iced coffee across the table. Like a woman dying of thirst, Noodle snatched it up and took a gulp, letting it cool the fuzzy-feeling burnt surface of her tongue. She couldn’t taste it much, which couldn’t be a good sign.

“Sorry I upset you,” Russel offered.

Noodle shook her head, holding an ice cube between her tongue and the roof of her mouth. Then, realizing this might be interpreted as a rejection, she cocked her head, nodded, then settled on indicating with a hand gesture that the apology was unneeded.

Russel huffed a laugh. “I get you,” he grinned. “But you’re right. Shoulda' done more about it. There’s a lot I should have done more about.”

Noodle swallowed the remains of her ice cube and slid the iced coffee back across the table with a grateful dip of her head. “It wasn’t your job,” she reminded him. “You were not the only adult in the house.”

“Yeah, but…” Russel sighed, apparently struggling with how to respectfully word his opinions.

“I know,” Noodle assured him, and leaned back in her seat again. She took a drag, wincing and choking as she remembered her recently sustained coffee injuries. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. You were the least of the bad influences, and you only smoked on occasion—and then, out of my sight. The others truly tried, in most areas, but smoking was one of the habits which slipped through the cracks. It must have seemed the most…normalized. The least risky.” She hesitated, thinking this wholly inaccurate. “Many people are smokers,” she revised.

“I would’ve never forgiven myself if you’d gotten cancer, though,” Russel said. “Well. I woulda knocked those two on their asses and _then_ I would’ve never forgiven myself.”

Noodle chuckled. “Well, it’s a moot point now,” she smiled wryly, and inhaled again.

Russel made That Noise, a pained little whisper of a sigh in the back of his throat. “You’re an adult, so ain’t much I can do about it without being a hypocrite and a nag, but even so…” he trails off. “Agh. Don’t know how to say this.”

“Don’t waste time softening your language,” Noodle admonished him. “I grew up around Murdoc and 2D, I don’t need you to censor yourself. Say what you mean.”

Russel still hesitated.

“It sounds stupid,” he finally said, “but I wish you wouldn’t.”

Noodle laughed sharply, irritation stabbing at her again. It _did_ sound stupid; so stupid she didn’t have a response for it but to take another pointed drag.

“I told you,” Russel said.

“You did,” Noodle bit out. She turned her face away for a moment, too frustrated with him to keep eye contact, and heaved a sigh.

“Noodle,” Russel started, before she whipped back on him, lightheaded with a startling surge of anger.

“No. No!” she shouted, surging to her feet. “ _I_ get to have things, too. I’m not your perfect little girl, you can’t _control_ me. I refuse to march to your—to-to _sit_ and _stand_ and _sleep_ and _play_ when I’m told. The three of you do not make me and I am whole without you.”

An infuriating stroke of realization crossed Russel’s face, and he stood, one hand outstretched as if to pacify a frightened animal. “Noodle,” he started, the word low and slow and gentle. The pity of it galled her, and she paced a few feet away before turning back, fists clenched.

“Do you know how much I worry for you three?” she asked, and Russel appeared startled by the changed tack. “How much I’ve always worried? And I _haven’t_ pressed you about your habits, I haven’t nagged about _your_ health, because I respect your decisions about how to treat your bodies. You three want to smoke? _Fine._ You three can smoke and eat and drink and dope yourselves to _death,_ and there’s bloody _nothing_ I can do but watch!”

Russel didn’t say anything, apparently having decided to let her blow herself out. Like a child throwing a tantrum.

“I am _my_ person. I am as capable of choosing as any of you! The three of you can march to your early graves and I’ll be here, _waiting._ ” Without really thinking about it, she lobbed the butt of her cigarette onto the pavers and ground it out with her heel. Ah, well. It had nearly reached the end of its run anyway.

They stood for a few moments, eyeing one another. She could tell by the set of Russel’s shoulders that he was preparing to argue, and the thought of truly _fighting_ with him chased the fire out of her. She had witnessed but never experienced the brunt of his anger, and his ire was slow to rise but furious when he was goaded. There had never been any reason for her to _fear_ the boys (so she had thought, something small and bitter whispered), but Russel’s anger was not for her. Russel’s anger was, broadly, for the powerful and corrupt who climbed to their stations by stepping on those who couldn’t or wouldn’t fight back. Personally, it was reserved for the true fuck-ups. For the _you endangered, you betrayed, you exploited me, my friends, my little girl._

It couldn’t be for _her._

Noodle reminded herself that she was in _control_ of her emotions, forcing her body to soften as she settled her breathing into a regular pattern. She drew the rage back into herself, reminding it that it was not for Russel.

“Alright?” Russel asked, still standing next to the table. The little bit of tension had gone out of him as quickly as it had come; he had always been so even-keeled (someone had to be. Katsu, sensing a change in the atmosphere, scurried over to rub up against Noodle’s ankles.

Noodle sighed, stepping off her crushed cigarette butt. “Yes,” she said, and it was mostly the truth. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t about you.”

“Wouldn’t have come at me if it wasn’t,” he replied.

Noodle huffed. “Don’t push it. Okay, yes. It wasn’t _all_ for you.” She bent over to scoop Katsu up and returned to the table, rubbing him behind the ears. “Thank you for sharing your opinions with me. I appreciate it, really.”

“Thanks for tellin’ me how you feel,” Russel returned. He hesitated, shifted his weight, and Noodle set Katsu down to throw her arms around him. Russel’s hugs, though not as rare as Murdoc’s, were no less valuable. He was thoughtful with physical affection, and the feeling of his arms wrapping around her, cocooning her and muffling the sounds of distant traffic, was more soothing than it ought to have been. She rested her head on his chest and felt at home.

“You should know I would never try an’ control you,” Russel rumbled. “Though I wanna hold on. You got so big,” he said, and she could hear his smile even through a pained hitch in his voice.

“It’s been almost seventeen years,” Noodle returned.

“Wish I’d spent more’a them with you.”

Noodle hummed her agreement and remained in the silent moment for another heartbeat before relaxing her embrace.

“Alright, get off.” She shoved him away playfully, sweeping an arm out to collect her mostly-untouched coffee. “I’ve got to steel myself for five hours in the studio with with our bunch.”

Russel laughed, picked up his own glass. “It ain’t near as bad as it used to be, baby girl,” he assured her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who does Russel think he is? Some kind of Good Soft Man? Some kind of GUY who can hug me and tell me it's gonna be okay? He's right
> 
> I think Russel may be simultaneously the character I am most like and the character who is the most difficult for me to write. I waffled about trying to pin down the way he experiences and expresses anger (since he's normally such a chill dude, if a little surly) but it's 100% righteous anger and reserved for The Unjust System and Murdoc's Nose
> 
> If you enjoy my writing, I would like to acknowledge that Ferrenbach's and Vinnie2757's writing lives in my head rent-free and my characterizations are undeniably influenced by the way they write these characters. On the slim chance you somehow found THIS fic without seeing their amazing stuff, please go check it out!
> 
> If you enjoyed this also consider leaving me a little comment, as a treat :)


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